


down to the core

by cyndakip



Series: the price of perfection [8]
Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Canada Moist Talkers (Blaseball Team), Core Mechanics (Blaseball Team), Gen, and also jaylen before she was a mech, minor appearances by various mechs and talkers, season 13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:55:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29988726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyndakip/pseuds/cyndakip
Summary: Pitching is what they're here to do. Theherechanges, but thewhatnever does.(The third and fourth days of the season, as experienced by PolkaDot Patterson in the Core)
Relationships: Lizzy Pasta & PolkaDot Patterson, PolkaDot Patterson & The Canada Moist Talkers, PolkaDot Patterson & The Core Mechanics
Series: the price of perfection [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1969006
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15
Collections: Canada Moist Talkers Fanfiction





	down to the core

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I have been pleasantly surprised at how well I've been handling the Dot trade. It really helps that the Mechanics are a completely new team, and wonderful, and they have so much great lore... though, being a new team, it's a pretty big assortment of different lore ideas, which is A Lot, so for the most part I'm kind of easing into that and not committing to much of anything specific yet. That means there's not a whole lot of detail about the Core and the Mechs here, but they're still very important to the fic. (especially Lizzy Pasta my beloved)
> 
> This was supposed to be just about Dot’s first Mechs game, but since it happened at the same time as that very interesting Talkers-Thieves game that ended up going into extra innings (hi Trevino), I just had to work that in, too... plus the next game after that was Talkers vs Mechs, and I couldn't ignore that! Shoutout as always to SIBR for creating the wonderful resource that is reblase and allowing me to write games with excessive accuracy!
> 
> I probably won't write anything that takes place between this fic and the previous one, since mossy_kit’s [Homecoming](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29911713) already fills that gap so beautifully, and you should go read it if you haven't already! This fic also owes a lot to Night_SD’s [Dot, Day One,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29927079) which made me love Lizzy Pasta and inspired a lot of what I did with her here.
> 
> I wrote both Jaylen and Lizzy into this before the feedback ever happened, which is... interesting! The swap won't be covered in this fic, but it's something I hope to write about in the future. 
> 
> also RIV Hands, I didn't really know you but I'm sure you were great 
> 
> (this might still be a liiiiiiiiiiiittle bit unpolished but I really just want to get it out there because a lot has been happening to the mechs and I want to move on to writing about all that)

PolkaDot Patterson has been trying. Trying not to hide away or shut themselves off from their new team or focus only on pitching. Not this time. That all belongs to a Dot from many seasons ago, they hope, and so they’ve been trying, trying their best to adjust to the Core, to the nonstop clanking and creaking and humming of it all, the noise often overwhelming in the public areas but almost comforting in their own little place the Mechs had set aside for them. 

It feels  _ too  _ small, sometimes, as most spaces tend to do for them now, but it isn't quite as bad with that constant sound in the background, the Core singing its ever-changing song, reminding Dot that they're here, and here is not home, but it's not the shell, either; this is unfamiliar, but it is safe, and they are safe. 

They've been trying to fit in with this new team, and so they've stayed, since they came to the Core. Stayed to watch the first two games that they didn't technically have to be at, sat on the bench and tried to get a feel for how their new team played.

Their new team hasn’t played particularly well, so far. 

None of them seem to mind that too much, at least, and Dot doesn't mind it either. It's never been about winning, for them. As long as they can pitch their best and get through a game without anything bad happening, they consider it a success. They just hope their new teammates don't expect them to single-handedly lead them all to victory -- or, many-handedly, rather, in their case. They’re a star pitcher on a newly arrived team; all the more opportunity for everyone to look at them with reverence, as a saviour, an unapproachable divine pitching entity. They know how that feels, though they had almost started to forget as the seasons went by, and they would like to forget it further. 

The Mechs don't seem to be that type, though. They’re a friendly bunch, maybe even _ too _ friendly, doing everything they can to try and make Dot feel welcome. It's overwhelming at times -- most of the time, if they're being honest -- all the attention combined with the confusing, chaotic unfamiliarity of the Core, but their new team understands that, and does their best to give them space, too. 

It's almost too good to be true, the way they don't think anything about Dot is... unusual. Not in a bad way, at least. There's some curiosity about their squiddish appearance, but it doesn't seem to be anything worse than that. The Mechanics have been gone so long that so much in the league is new to them, and Dot is just one small part of it all. 

None of them knew the Dot from before. Before the blessing. Before the unshelling, even. None of them had ever heard of PolkaDot Patterson until last season. It's freeing, in a way, to be in a place where all they are is who they are now. 

Even if they're still figuring out who that is.

Being a pitcher, though, is the one thing Dot has always been sure of. That hasn't changed, and probably never will. And so here they are, once again atop the mound in an unfamiliar stadium, wearing an unfamiliar uniform, surrounded by unfamiliar teammates. 

The ball hasn't changed, either, and they know how to throw it, and they  _ must _ throw it, so they wrap their many fingers around it, hold tight to this one thing they know for certain and prepare to let it go. 

Bates Bentley, formerly of the Millennials, currently of the Fridays, is waiting at the plate. Another player recently torn from their team. 

Don't think about that, though. Think about the pitch you're going to throw to him, which isn't the kind of thing you even  _ need _ to think about, you could pitch in your sleep, but, still. Don’t think about that. Not right now.

Don't think about the Talkers, who are starting their game in Charleston right now. Don't think about Eugenia oozing up to the plate with a smile, and Ziwa, who should be preparing to bat next, doing nothing but watching her. Don't think about Greer showing off in the dugout, still flexing her new muscles and bragging about being the new star pitcher. Don't think about CV streaming the game, as always, with York jumping in to do co-commentary whenever he's nearby. Don’t think about watching that later instead of the official broadcast, because the official broadcast doesn't truly capture who the Talkers are.

Don't think about Beasley, who will be bouncing with excitement at seeing his old team. Never mind that he's already seen them over the last two days, he'll be as enthusiastic as ever and Lachlan will probably have to stop him from running out on the field more than once. 

Don't think about Workman up in the stands in Charleston, cheering for both teams.

They'd offered to come to this game instead, but Dot had said no, they shouldn’t have to miss a series with the Thieves, and there would be plenty of other Mechs games in the future to go to, anyway. Dot had hoped it might hurt less to not have that constant reminder for their first game, to not be always looking up at the stands, trying to find some stability amid this chaos and knowing it won’t last. 

They’ll be here tomorrow, anyway. All of them. The Talkers will be playing here, and Dot won’t get to pitch against them, not this time around, and they're not sure if that's better or worse, but, either way, they'll all be here tomorrow, and so they don't have to be here now. Dot has a new team to focus on, a team who deserves their full attention, and they're distracted enough already, and the umpire --

The umpire is looking at them in a way that suggests they had better hurry up and throw the ball. 

And so they do.

They don't have to think while they're pitching. They know what to do, their fingers know what to do, and what they do is throw strikes, fast and hard and unstoppable, one-two-three, the familiar rhythm fitting more comfortably than any uniform, the Fridays batters dropping quickly. 

Three up.

Three down.

It's what they're here to do. The  _ here _ changes, but the  _ what _ never does.

Their new team seems impressed, exclaiming and complimenting and congratulating. Dot does their best to thank them and wave it all off at the same time, and tells them it's their turn to shine.

Dot tries to focus on their teammates, but Jaylen’s there, staring everyone down from the mound, her flickering almost imperceptible without any feedback in the air to ignite it. Dot doubts anyone else here can see the way her body still wants to tear itself apart and reassemble somewhere new every time, pulled further and further away from where she started. 

This is Dot’s fourth team, and that's hard enough, but Jaylen will soon have been on so many that Dot will be one of the few people with enough fingers to count them all. Like Dot, she’d started to find a new home over the siesta, but here they both are now, facing off in different uniforms again.

The Mechanics have heard the basics, of course. They’re vaguely aware of her story, though they weren't _ there _ , didn't watch their teammates burn up in front of them, and so they're not afraid. Intimidated, maybe, a few of them. Excited, in Kelvin’s case, to see a former member of the garages in person. But not afraid.

Not that it was ever her Dot feared, either.

Jaylen’s not dangerous in that sense anymore, but she's still a dangerous pitcher, and she blasts a couple strikes past Mira right away. Mira surprises everybody by connecting solidly with the third pitch, though, sliding into second with a grin. The crowd barely has time to calm down before Ji-Eun brings her home, and the team all jumps up to celebrate.

Dot hangs back from the cluster of excitable teammates, but manages to congratulate Mira once she passes by, and she seems pretty happy about it all. 

It's a close game. It always is with Jaylen, sometimes  _ too _ close, but this is fine, it’s safe, there's nothing worse than a black hole overhead and she's not going to hit anyone. Ruffian helps extend their lead by hitting a home run, and Dot flies through the rest of the innings on that momentum, lifted up by the energy and the crowd, flying towards that shutout, flying --

Flying. The ball, flying over the fence, after hitting Harrell’s bat.

Oh, well. 

They shake it off, find the rhythm again, launch three quick strikes past Combs, and their teammates don't seem any less happy to see them when they return to the dugout this time, nobody minding that they’ve let in a run.

The Mechanics hold on to the lead, and when Dot throws that final pitch to end the game, the team rushes forward in celebration. Dot freezes up for a moment, tenses as their teammates surround them -- but they all take notice of that, and back off a little.

“High fives from a distance?” Hands suggests, stretching out a hand in Dot’s direction, not close enough to touch.

Dot smiles, a little, and lifts all their fourth-dimensional tentacle-hands up around them, enough to point one towards each of their teammates, who raise their own appendages in response, calling out congratulations.

“I couldn't have done it without you,” Dot says. “That was as much your victory as it was mine, if not more so.” 

In that moment, they feel incredibly proud, and it has nothing to do with how they performed on the mound.

Once the chaos dies down a bit, Ji-Eun approaches Dot. “Some of us were thinking of hanging out after the game, would you like to join?”

“I would,” Dot says, and is surprised to find that they actually mean it. “But I was planning on…”

They look towards the Fridays’ dugout, but Jaylen is already nowhere to be seen. They weren't really expecting anything different, but they would have liked to talk to her -- and yes, they know they could just call her sometime, but it's so much easier to just go _ oh, hello, you pitched a great game, and anyway I was just wondering how you deal with having to leave so many teams, because I think I've forgotten. Or maybe I just want to forget, and I can’t anymore. _

But she's gone. 

“... I was hoping to watch the rest of my team’s -- er, the Talkers’ game with the Thieves,” they say instead.

“Oh, that's a great idea!” Gia chimes in. “We’re playing them next, and this can help us get ready! We can all watch it together, and you can tell us more about them.”

“Well, I was planning on watching a specific stream...”

“We can do that!”

And so Dot somehow finds themselves in front of the computer at their new place in the Core, most of the Mechanics gathered around, watching the game -- or watching the Talkers, anyway. Whenever they’re the ones batting, nobody gets to see much of it, because CV tends to train the camera on whatever's happening in the dugout, which, to be fair, is often more entertaining.

At the moment, Greer is attempting to show off her new strength by arm-wrestling Fish and Jenkins at the same time, while Mooney lectures Jenkins about tiring out their pitching arm in the middle of a game, and Jenkins insists that they can beat Greer  _ and _ Tillman without even breaking a sweat. CV points out that they're in extra innings, which means that Jenkins is taking longer than most pitchers to beat Tillman, which is kind of sad, considering that despite his recent boost from the election, he's still Tillman, to which Jenkins says nothing, still trying to push Greer's arm over. York comes back from hitting a ground out and jumps in front of the camera to say hi to Dot (correctly assuming they’re watching this by now), obscuring the results of the arm-wrestling contest in the background. Whatever happened, it’s certainly resulting in a lot of yelling. 

“Are they always like this?” Lizzy asks, watching the chaos unfold.

“Yes,” Dot says, the heartbreakingly fond feeling in their chest threatening to overwhelm them.

She grins. “Cool.” 

That isn't quite the word Dot would use, but, all the same, they're glad their new team seems excited to meet their old.

As the game goes on, they all get a close-up look of CV stealing second, followed by Beans hitting a home run to finally break the tie. They're up by two now, so all Jenkins needs to do is hold them off for the rest of the inning, and the Talkers have got this. 

The Talkers have not, in fact, got this, as the Thieves prove by promptly tying it up. Whether or not this has anything to do with the arm-wrestling is a subject of much debate. 

The innings tick on, and it's the 16th when something starts to change. Esme at bat, the glowing energy coalescing around her, and...

“We've got a ghost!” CV says excitedly, training the camera on the batter.

Dot recognizes him even before Eugenia’s yell echoes from the infield. “TREVINO!” 

Trevino Merritt, former Moist Talker and current Hall of Flame resident (well, current Esme resident, technically) is standing at the plate, waving to the team. Whatever Mooney is saying from the dugout is lost underneath Greer shouting “HEY, TREV, CHECK THIS OUT!” and flexing.

He laughs, swings, hits the ball, and by the time CV surfaces from picking it up, he's already gone.

“Did you know him?” Hands asks with a sympathetic glance at Dot.

“No,” Dot says softly. They knew who he was, of course, saw him on highlight reels back in the day, heard the stories their teammates told, but he was already a ghost before they ever joined the Talkers.

It wasn't much of a reunion. Eugenia, Greer, Mooney... no one else is left, no other former teammates of his on the Talkers. No one else left to remember what it was like to share a dugout with Trevino Merritt. Blaseball has been relentless in separating them all.

The Mechanics had all been together for so long, and almost as soon as they returned to the league, everything was shaken up by Dot’s arrival. How much time will the rest of them have together? How much time will the rest of the Talkers have together?

They know the answer is  _ never enough _ .

Dot almost misses it the second time it happens, CV and Beans pulling ahead with a two-run homer again, but they look up at the sound of the cheering from the stream and the not-as-excited-but-still-happy cheering from the Mechs. 

It would have been a good game to be there for, Dot thinks. But they’re surprised to find that they feel pretty good about having been there for the game they just pitched, too.

* * *

Dot rarely shows up early to games, but today, they make an exception. They’re there before anyone else in the Core, there before the Talkers, waiting outside the stadium. They don't want to miss a moment with their te-- well, with the Talkers.

And then all of a sudden they're here, all of them, flooding in. York's the first one to shout and wave, and then the others follow suit, all calling out to Dot, who settles for waving back, unable to find any words for this feeling.

Beasley reaches them before anyone else, dashing over, barking excitedly in a way that he usually reserves for Workman, and Dot’s eyes definitely are not moist at all as they laugh and do their best to make up for several missed days of petting him, nope, definitely not, they’re a Mech now, moistness is no longer required.

Workman's there too, of course, grinning as they join Dot and Beasley.

“Heard you’ve got a nice place here,” they say. “Got any room for two Wet Bandits to stay for a few days? Beasley doesn’t snore too much, I promise.”

“Yes. Of course. Anytime. Always.” Dot’s words are muffled due to having just buried their face in Beasley’s fur, entirely because it's nice and soft and not at all because they need a moment to de-moisten their eyes, definitely not. 

They stand up as soon as they can and face the team, who are all waiting for them.

“Welcome to the Core,” Dot says.

And though it's the Core, it feels like they're home, as the team starts telling them what they’ve missed and asking them all about this place and their new team and whether they’re settling in. Dot does their best to answer everything, but there's not enough time, of course there isn't, and soon they’ll have to go their separate ways into the stadium.

“You'll show us around after the game, right?” York asks, looking around at it all eagerly.

“I don't think I'm qualified for that,” Dot admits. “I still get lost all the time. But I can get the other Mechanics to show you,  _ and _ me.”

“The  _ other  _ Mechanics, huh? You're talking like you're one of them already,” Ziwa points out.

“Oh. Sorry.”

“No, that's  _ good _ !” they say. “I mean, it's weird. Definitely sounds weird to hear you say that. But it's good that you can.”

It  _ feels _ weird to say. They don't feel like a Mechanic, really. But maybe they can learn.

“Doesn't make you any less of a Talker,” Lachlan says.

“Once a Talker, always a Talker,” Workman agrees, smiling at Dot. “Or, once a Talker, once a Mech. Always both.”

Eugenia giggles. “That saying sounds familiar. I think it’s supposed to be “Once a Thief, once a Talker.””

“That's a good point,” Workman nods. “All we need to do is make sure you end up on the Thieves, and then you're bound to come back to the Talkers. We all know that's how it works.”

“Might be difficult, since they all have headphones now,” Dot reminds them, though they can’t help smiling a bit at the thought.

“I'm sure you'll find a way.”

In that moment, Dot almost feels that they don't need to, and knows that the rest of the team feels it too. They have this, still, and it's not the same, but it's good. They’re a Mechanic, and they’re a Talker, and they’re a Crab (though they had never really let themselves be) and they're a Mint (though that's mostly lost and gone, belonging to a life they can never get back), and someday they will be something else, too.

But they’re still Dot. And they're here. And everyone else is here. And right now, that's enough.

* * *

They’ve got a game to play from opposite sides, though, and all too soon Dot has to reluctantly leave the Talkers behind. Just for now, though, they remind themselves. Dot winds their way deeper into the stadium, following the Core’s twisting paths, and --

Is that... Lizzy? Why is she hanging around here? She's pitching today and should be ready already.

She certainly doesn't  _ seem _ ready, standing in a corner, biting her lip.

“Are… are you all right?” they ask hesitantly.

“Oh!” she says, looking up, startled. “Uh, yes! Of course!”

Dot isn't convinced.

“Are you worried about the game?”

“...Maybe a little,” she admits. “It's my first one here in so long. Everything's changed so much... the other teams have all gotten so good without us. Your old team’s full of stars. How can I measure up to that?”

“We--  _ they _ weren’t always like that,” Dot says. “You're right, they've gotten good. They didn't used to be on this level, but they got there, and you'll get there too. And even back then, we could win when everyone least expected it. You can too.” They sigh. “And, well, in recent seasons we’ve tended to  _ lose _ when we least expect it, too.”

“But that's your old team! I… even if I could beat them, it wouldn't be very nice for you to watch. I saw how much you love them.”

“I would be proud to see you beat them. Honestly.” 

Would they be? Yes. Would they be a little sad about it, at the same time? Also yes.

They’d be a little sad if the Talkers won, too. No matter who wins, it’s going to feel a little like losing. 

Lizzy brightens for a moment, then frowns again. “But I don't think I can make you proud. I saw what you can do, yesterday. We all did. I can't live up to that. I can't pitch like you. I walk a lot of batters.”

“No one can pitch like me,” Dot says. “You don't have to try to do that. Just pitch like you. No one else can do that, either.”

“But what if pitching like me isn't good enough?”

“It's good enough for me, and I'm sure it's good enough for the rest of the team, too. The worst that can happen is that we lose. You've lost before.  _ I've _ lost before. I lose plenty of games, too. Just look at last season.” They pause. “Maybe not too closely, though.” 

She giggles. “I saw you throw all those foul balls, because everyone was talking about it. That was fun.”

“It was,” Dot admits. “And that's what matters, I suppose. I would remember that game just as fondly even if I had lost. I think you can remember this game fondly, too, as long as you let yourself have fun.”

Lizzy nods, straightening up a bit. “I guess I can try.”

“Good,” Dot says as she starts to follow them. “We don't have time now, but later, I can tell you all about a friend of mine who pitched like no one else, and walked a lot of batters, and lost a lot of games, and was just as much an important part of the team as anyone. He could win big games when it really mattered, too, but we wouldn't have loved him any less if he didn't.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Dot echoes as they both head in to join their teammates. 

* * *

At the start, Lizzy's a little hesitant on the mound, throwing a lot of balls, but she still manages to get the first two outs without any complications, sending both Eugenia and Ziwa back to the dugout. That seems to build her confidence a bit, but strikes require a bit more than just confidence, and she ends up walking Cedric and CV in quick succession.

Cedric steals third and fourth before Jesús is even halfway towards being walked, putting the Talkers on the board already. Dot has to suppress the instinct to cheer; after so much time on the team, it feels wrong  _ not _ to, and anyway, it was an impressive play, and they want their old team to do well.

But they don't want Lizzy to feel bad, either, and so they stay quiet until she manages that third out and returns to the dugout.

“That wasn't so bad, was it?”

“I let in a run already!”

“We've all done that.” 

“Yeah... that was kind of fun, though!” She's grinning despite herself. “Stealing  _ two bases in a row _ ? That’s pretty cool, I have to admit. That guy’s good.”

“He is,” Dot agrees. “They all are, but so are you, and now that they're getting complacent, go throw them all out next time they try to steal.”

“That was totally my plan,” she says, and Dot’s heart aches a little; Morse would be very proud of her. 

Dot is, too.

The next half of the inning rolls around, and instead of taking the mound, Beasley tries to run over to Dot. They have to call out to him that he’s a very good boy, yes, but he has to pitch, and Dot will be watching, and he’ll do great, and they'll be there to give him lots of petting and treats after the game, they promise.

And so, with a backward glance (and then a glance to Workman in the stands, of course), he gets up there and pitches several beautiful strikeouts. Dot tries very hard to find the balance between cheering for him and reassuring their teammates that they'll get it next time.

“Wow, he can really pitch,” Lizzy says, wide-eyed.

“You can too,” Dot tells her. “Go on out there and show everyone.” 

And she does.

Well, yes, she loads the bases, but she doesn't let any runs in, which is undeniably good, in Dot’s opinion, and she seems pretty pleased with herself as she returns to the dugout. Her smile manages to stick around for most of the game, even as the other team’s runs tick upwards and her own team isn't able to make up the difference. She's having fun with it. 

No one's really too surprised it's a one-sided game. The Moist Talkers are supposed to be one of the best teams around, after all, despite their consistent postseason failures, despite their now-lack of Dot. Not to say that the Mechs don't put up a good fight, of course; they get some solid hits, make some nice catches, but they get shut out 8-0.

Lizzy, still smiling, vows to get them next time. Dot thinks she just might.

The rest of the team doesn't seem to mind the loss too much, either. In fact, the most pressing thing on their minds seems to be “Can we pet Beasley?”, followed by “Will CV let me be on his stream?” and “Can I arm-wrestle Greer?”. 

“You can ask them yourselves,” Dot says to their team, already starting towards the other dugout, where the Talkers are waiting for them. “Come meet my family.”

**Author's Note:**

> Soon I will be writing some Dot fics that don't belong in the Moist Talkers collection, and that kind of hurts my heart, but at the same time, I'm excited to write more about them on the Mechs! ~~so nobody else steal them please~~ I've got a few ideas already. And of course I still have plenty of ideas and wips from the Talkers days, too, so there will always be more of that. (though I am going to take a very brief break because I spent most of the last few days working on this and my brain is utterly fried) 
> 
> Thanks for reading <3


End file.
